


Treading Water

by lastgoldsun



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Family, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Psychosis, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 07:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9982862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastgoldsun/pseuds/lastgoldsun
Summary: 'I'm always here if you need help, y’know? And I'm not the only one. If you're not coping on your own-''I'm coping. I'm stressed but I'm not going to pieces.''Fine. But if you start to not cope at some point in the future there's people who can help. Me, Adam, Chas, Diane. We’re all here for you. You're not an island, Robert.'After Aaron is sentenced, Robert's mental health deteriorates.





	

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to [claudia](http://inloveamateursatbest.tumblr.com/) for getting me to take a rough idea i had and turn it into this fic. i blame her entirely for this.

It starts as an itch. A twinge buried deep in his brain that he can’t scratch. It’s nothing new. It’s always there. Always has been there. He just hasn’t really thought about it much recently. It would sneak up on him sometimes, when he was drifting between sleep and waking, that liminal space where nothing really makes sense anyway. It’s not a voice. He doesn’t _hear voices_. It’s a feeling. Something like dread but not quite that. A presence lurking just out of view that he doesn’t really understand. Most of the time he can ignore it, bury himself in his work or his love life, never let the world around him get quiet.  

When Aaron is sentenced to 12 months behind bars, everything falls silent. 

Except that one thing. 

It may not be a voice, but it's become the loudest thing in his life. 

 

* * *

 

 _But how are you doing?_  

He stared down at his hands, clasped tight on the table in front of him, so tight that his wedding ring digs into his palm. The skin around it has gone white from lack of circulation, but he can't bring himself to unclench his fist. 

 _I’m not the one in prison._  

Aaron closes his eyes, his expression pinched. Robert wants to reach across the table and smooth out his frown, but he can’t, because even such a chaste gesture could get his husband killed. The room around them is buzzing with conversation. Prisoners getting visits from wives and girlfriends. They're holding hands across the table. One man even sneaks a kiss when the nearest guard becomes distracted. They can't do anything and it feels horribly, painfully unfair. 

 _I’m allowed to ask. It’s not like I’m the only one who’s allowed to have feelings._  

 _Well I’m fine._  

Aaron opens his eyes and blinks a few times like he’s trying to keep back tears, but his eyes are dry. 

 _You know how you promised to be honest with me?_ _Yeah_  

 _Aaron_ _-_  

 _No. Don’t._ _You promised to be honest with me. And that means being honest about how you're feeling. Not just when you've_ _got something shady going on. You promised you wouldn't lie._  

It's not a lie. Not really. He's fine. He's coping. He's keeping his head above the water. That's what matters isn't it? Okay, so he's not happy, but who is? Who can honestly say that their normal state of existence is happy. Fine is the best most people can expect. Anything else is just a bonus. 

 _I'm not lying. I'm fine._  

Aaron looks like he's about to say something else but a sound like a school bell cuts through the air. He sighs and stands. The couples around them embrace, but they stay a a good arm’s width apart, worried that even the slightest expression of affection will give them away. Robert offers his hand like he's closing a business deal. Aaron takes it and squeezes so hard that a jolt of pain shoots up to Robert's elbow, but he doesn't pull back. Instead he traces his thumb over the back of Aaron's hand. He wishes he could keep ahold of it, leading him out of prison, away from the shame and hiding they've long since gotten past in their own relationship. He wants to take him home, back to their bed, where they'd hide under the covers like children playing pretend and he'd wrap him in his arms and promise to never let him go. Instead, Aaron lets go, his hand falling to his side while Robert’s hovers in place, grasping the air, trying to preserve Aaron's touch like it's the last time, because every time feels like the last time. 

 

* * *

 

He wakes up at 3am for no reason at all. It feels like he's woken from a nightmare, but he can't remember having one. He doesn't really dream much these days, and that's one thing he's thankful for. He stumbles from his bedroom to the bathroom and doesn’t bother to turn the light on, finding his way to the toilet by the pale moonlight bouncing off the tiles. The flush sounds like an earthquake when the house is this quiet. He's washing his hand when he feels it. The dread. The feeling that something is lurking just behind him. He washes his hands like nothing's wrong, scrubbing for much longer than he usually would. He can hear his breath rattling in his ears. His heart is somehow in his throat and his stomach at the same time. He turns off the tap and counts to three before facing the darkness. There's nothing there. Of course there isn't. The itch in his brain flares up again, and he's sure that there is.

 

* * *

 

Liv goes back and forth between ignoring him completely and not leaving him alone. Three weeks into Aaron's sentence she throws a plate at him and says that she hates him. He snaps and says that no one is making her stay. She storms from the house and returns twenty minutes in tears, grabbing ahold of Robert's arm and making him spill the red wine he's drinking down his shirt. She starts to apologise. Not just for the plate or the yelling or the wine. For everything. Just for being there. He tries his best to comfort her but he doesn’t know how, because what good would it do if he told her that he’d spent his entire life feeling like he wasn't quite welcome, and that it was only recently that he'd finally felt wanted and it had been ripped away from him so easily. How can  he tell her that a sense of belonging is  a fickle thing that could disappear without a moments notice? In the end he just hugs her, because without Aaron, they're both strangers in this house. 

When she goes up to her room  he sets to work cleaning the kitchen. He starts with the shards of broken ceramic that have scattered the length of the floor. He's knotting up the pieces in a plastic bag when he feels it again. The presence. It's lurking at the window this time, just beyond view. He stands and makes his way to the back door and fumbles with the latch. He's had a couple of drinks, so it's no surprise that his hands a trembling. When he finally gets the door open he steps out into the night air, the bag held slightly behind him, ready to swing at any potential attacker. He glances around, hearing nothing but the gentle breeze and the chatter of punters leaving the pub. It's still there though, the presence, he's sure of it, if he could just- 

 _Robert_ _?_  

He turns and sees Chas stood in the doorway in her dressing grown, arms folded across her chest against the cold. Robert frowns. It's only just gone ten, surely she should still be round the front manning the bar? 

 _Maybe you_ _should come in now,_ _love._  

 _Yeah, sorry. I'm just putting out some rubbish._  

 _Right_ _. It's just getting late. It's gone midnight and you've been out her for over an hour. You'll freeze if you're not careful._  

Robert swallows and nods. Chas gives him a concerned look before disappearing back into the house. There must have been some kind of mistake. There's no way it could be so late. He pulls his phone from his pocket. 

00:45. 

He wanders back to the house in a daze, leaving the bag by the back door. It's nothing. People lose track of time all the time. It doesn't mean anything.  

He makes it to the stairs before he feels it. The pain in the bottoms of his feet. He lowers himself onto the bottom step and pulls his left foot up so it's balanced on his right knee. The sole is a bloody mess, all scrapes and peeling skin and embedded gravel. The pain throbs all the way up his leg, and he has to take a few deep breaths to quell the nausea that's rising in his gut. He glances up in the direction he came and, as he'd expected but prayed not to be right about, there’s a trail of bloody  footprints leading from the kitchen to where he's sat. He has no memory of the past two hours, of how his feet got like this or how he didn't register the pain. He doesn't know what to think, so he doesn't, instead steeling himself for the painful climb up to the bathroom. He'll clean himself up, then he'll clean up the mess he's left in his wake, but he won't even try to clean up his mind.  He can't go near thinking about any of that stuff. He can't be falling apart, not now, not with Aaron in prison and Liv only on misstep away from coming off the rails. He has to keep his head above the water.  

 

* * *

 

There's a major head-on collision just outside of Hotten on the day that Aaron's appeal application falls through. Robert has been cooped up in the house all day, forgoing work to do all the research needed before he applies for reconsideration. A quick run to the shop to pick up some pasta for his and Liv’s tea is the only fresh air he gets all day. That's where he sees the headline, plastered across the board outside David’s.  

TWO DEAD AND THREE  INJURED IN HOTTEN BYPASS COLLISION. 

That stretch of road must be cursed. Either that or it just has extremely poor visibility. Robert shakes it off. No point wallowing in the tragedy of strangers. If everyone was to mourn every death that came to pass no one would ever get anything done.  

When he enters the shop, David and Tracy are talking at the counter, a copy of _The Courier_ open between them. Tracy is running her finger down the page as she reads. Robert tries to ignore their conversation while he shops, but there's not exactly much to distract him beyond overpriced boxes of artisan granola. 

 _It says there was another car involved, but it drove off._  

 _What? Like a hit and run?_  

 _Guess so._  

 _God._  

 _You_ _'d have to be a right so-and-so to just leave people like that. A right nasty piece of work._  

 _Well, they'll have to live with the con_ _sequences of what they've done forever now. There's no just getting away with something like that, y’know?_  

Robert's hands are trembling as he places a bag of pasta and some Parmesan cheese on the counter, though that's nothing new. His hands have been shaking non-stop for days. He could barely do the buttons on his shirt up that morning. Tracy budges over slightly but doesn't acknowledge him, while David gives him a small nod and a smile, not interrupting Tracy as she goes on. 

 _They probably don't even care though_ _. If you can drive away from something like that you must be pretty heartless._  

 _That'll be_ _£4.01, mate. Well, hopefully the police will catch up to them eventually, even if their co_ _nscience don't._  

Robert hands David a fiver and drums his fingers on the counter while he waits for his change. He peers over at the article Tracy is reading. The picture is grainy but clear enough to show two cars sandwiched together at the bonnets, broken glasses littering the road around them. It's nothing like the pictures he saw of the pile-up he and Aaron were involved in last year, but it's  bad even so. Tracy looks at him for a second, raises her eyebrows, then quickly goes back to staring at the paper. What was it? What did she see? What does she think she- 

 _Your change, mate_ _._ __

Robert looks from Tracy to David, who has his hand outstretched like he's presenting some kind of peace offering. Robert takes the change and mutters his thanks, before turning on his heel and strolling do the door as fast as he can while still attempting to look casual. 

 _Robert! Wait a second._  

The sound of his name makes him jump and he catches himself just short of stumbling. He glances over his shoulder, half expecting to see Tracy on the phone to the police while David tries to coax him away from the door. But Tracy has started doing a crossword and David is holding Robert's shopping, which he completely forgot. 

 

The pub his heaving by the time he gets back, the work week over and everyone dying to get the weekend started as soon as possible. He waves at Liv, who's sat at a table in the far corner with Gabby, peering over her friend’s shoulder as she shows her something on her phone. She gives a curt nod in response to Robert's greeting and no more, but it's a lot better than he gets some days so he'll take it. He's about to head into the back room when he hears Charity and Chas talking behind the bar. 

 _You know this'll be the first place they’ll look._  

 _You can't seriously be saying you think that hit-and-run business was to do with one of ours._  

 _No, I'm saying there's hardly one person in this village who the police haven't been after at some point._  

 _Don’t be dramatic._  

 _Can you really say you wouldn't think as much if you were a copper around these parts_ _?_ _Y’know what? It wouldn't surprise me if it_ _was_ _someone from here. I'd be more surprised if it wasn't._  

Robert trips on his way past, dropping his shopping and his wallet in the process. Chas and Charity both turn to look, as well as a few people who are drinking at the bar. He feels his face flush. He's usually so sure-footed, but recently the floor seems to move from beneath him whenever he tries to walk.  

 _You okay there, love?_  

Robert nods in response to Chas’s concern, crouching to retrieve what he's dropped.  

 _So what do you reckon, Robert? Got any theories about this hit-and-run business?_  

Robert stands and  shrugs, his tongue feels like it's swollen up in his mouth. Charity seems taken aback by his lack of response. 

 _You ain't hiding something are you?_  

She laughs at her own question. Robert feels like all eyes in the room are suddenly on him, even though none of the conversation around them has ceased. He suddenly wants to sink back to the floor again and hide. 

 _I didn't do anything. It had nothing to do with me. I was at home all yesterday. I didn't leave the house._  

Chas looks taken aback.  

 _We know that, love._  

 _Then why is everyone accusing me?!_  

All eyes really are on him then. He has no idea how loud his voice was, but the entire pub has fallen silent. Charity’s smirk has disappeared and Chas has actually taken a step away from him. He looks around, catching sight of Liv, who's mouth is hanging open slightly, her hand gripping Gabby’s arm. The world is closing in and he doesn't know how to stop it so he doesn't try. He just runs. 

 

Vic finds him in the back room later that evening. She's got a coat over her chef’s whites and her bag on her shoulder, ready to go home. He's on his third beer and is watching some quiz show. He doesn't acknowledge her when she comes in. He knows what she's here about and he doesn't want to hear it. 

 _You okay?_  

 _I'm fine._  

 _Robert-_  

 _I’m fine, Vic, honestly. Leave it._  

She perches on the  arm of the sofa, staring at the TV but clearly not watching. After a short while she grabs the remote from the coffee table and mutes it. Robert acts like he hasn't noticed. 

 _You don't sound fine. Not after what happened earlier. Chas told me. Apparently you made a right scene._  

 _Charity was winding me up._  

 _She was joking, Rob. Since when has that bothered you? You give as good as you get and you know it. What's changed?_  

Robert shakes his head, rubbing his fingers across his brow like he's got a migraine.  

 _I'm just stressed. What with Aaron in prison and_ _Liv_ _acting up every other day and trying to keep the scrapyard going while staying on top of everything at Home James. I'm just stretched pretty_ _thin_ _right now, okay?_  

Vic looks like she's about to say something else, but decides against it. Instead she stands up and re-adjusts her bag on her shoulder.  

 _I'm always here if you need help, y’know_ _?_ _And I'm not the only one. If you're not coping on your own-_  

 _I'm coping. I'm stressed but I'm not going to pieces._  

 _Fine. But if you start to not cope at some point in the future there's people who can help. Me, Adam, Chas, Diane. We’re all here for you. You're not an island, Robert._  

With that, she heads home, leaving Robert alone in the dark with the flickering images on the silent television, wondering how it would feel to be engulfed by the sea. 

 

* * *

 

He's driving home from his second prison visit, hands clasped around the steering wheel, knuckles white. He'd turned up  to find Aaron with a black eye, the source of which he wouldn’t divulge. Robert had wanted to go around that visiting room and interrogate every prisoner in there, trying to find who'd hurt his husband, and God help the poor sod who had because he'd bring hell down on their head. They'd be scared to leave prison by the time he was done with them. But he didn't. He'd just sat and listened while Aaron blathered on about all the mundanities he could think of. He'd complained about the food and his lumpy mattress and how he feels  like a child when he's sent to his cell at nine. The only meaningful topic of  conversation he'd brought up was that he'd been put into counselling. 

 _It's not gonna work any miracles, but it's helping. Having someone to talk to about stuff._  

Robert's glad it's working for Aaron, but he can't imagine anything he'd hate more. The thought of clipboards and wary eyes reading his body language makes him feel sick. More sick than he usually feels, anyway. There's not been a day in the past week when his stomach hasn't been constantly churning. It's a struggle just to eat one small meal a day.  

The sun has dipped below the horizon, streaking the clouds with pink and silhouetting the hills against the orange sky. It should be beautiful. It is beautiful, but Robert isn't focusing on that. He can smell smoke. He's sure of it. He lets out a shuddering breath and opens a window, hoping that will get rid of the smell, but it doesn't. It only gets stronger, until it's filling his lungs and making him splutter, his eyes watering against the fumes. It's then he sees the flames, licking out from under the bonnet like tongues. He slams on the breaks. 

 

He's in the passenger seat of Vic’s van. They're just pulling up outside her house. There’s an ache at the bottom of his spine and something stuck to his forehead. He runs his fingers  over his face, tracing  it from eyebrow to jaw. Everything feels the same as it did before the fire. Rough and smooth in  the right places. His hand falls to his chest, just over his heart, which is beating as it should be, if a little faster than usual, though that's no surprise these days. 

 _My car._  

 _It's been towed. Pretty badly damaged but not_ _unsalvageable. d_ _on't_ _get your hopes up about the insurance paying out, though_ _._ _T_ _he_ _other driver is insisting you stopped without warning. He was probably speeding if you ask me._  

They come to a stop in the driveway, the rattling jars and bottles in the back of the van falling silent as the engine dies. Vic’s dressed in her _Diddy Diner_ t-shirt and has her hair tied back in a tight ponytail, smelling vaguely of cooking oil and sugar. She'd said something about a catering gig the other day, but it's weeks away. 

Isn’t it?

 _Did they put the fire out quickly then?_  

 _What fire?_  

 _The car it was on-_  

He stops when he sees how Vic is looking at him. The lights inside the van have gone off, but he can see her face in the yellow glow of the porch light. She looks scared. 

 _You were rear-ended, Robert. There was no fire._  

 _What?_  

 _You heard me. Someone drove into the back of your car and-_  

 _How did I get here?_  

 _Get where?_  

 _Here!_  

Robert gestures to the van. His head is spinning and he's barely keeping down the contents of his stomach. 

 _I picked you up from the hospital. Don't you remember? The doctor said you've got whiplash and a mild concussion but that's it._  

He breathes slowly through his nose. He hit is head. That's all. That explains the memory loss. The fire must have just been a dream or something, something conjured from the depths of his concussion-addled brain. That's all. 

 _Right. Got you. I'm just feeling a bit fuzzy. Y’know, head injury and all._  

Vic nods. She doesn't  seem convinced but doesn't press the matter. 

 _You're staying at mine tonight. The doctor says you have to be woken every two hours to make sure your head is alright. I've already texted Liv to let her know._  

 _You don't need to do that. You have work in the morning._  

 _No I don't. I have a doctor’s appointment._  

 _What? Are you okay?_  

 _I'm fine. I'm great, actually._  

Vic undoes her seatbelt and brushes a couple of flyaway hairs out of her face, staring at the steering wheel. She sits in silence for a moment before turning to look at Robert. 

 _Listen. I'm not supposed to say anything yet. So you can't tell anyone. Not even Aaron, okay?_  

Robert nods. He already has a feeling that he knows what she's going to say, but he doesn't want to get his hopes up. Not until he knows for sure. 

 _I'm pregnant. About eight weeks along. I'm going in for my first scan tomorrow._  

She's trying to bite back a grin, but is failing miserably. A smile spreads across Robert's face. The first time he's smiled and meant it since Aaron was put behind bars. He undoes his seatbelt and pulls Vic into a hug, trying to be as gentle as he can. She laughs and hugs him back. 

After everything that's happened these past few months, he finally has something to be happy about.  

 

* * *

 

He hasn't slept in four days, but he's not tired. He's too awake, in fact, like he’s on the biggest high of his life that he just can't come down from. He hands are trembling constantly and everything seems too bright, too loud, just too much. He can't sleep, but he can't do anything either. He’s so tightly wound that just the thought of getting work done, of sitting down for more than five minutes, seems impossible. He tries jogging, but the greens and the blues of the outside world are too overwhelming. Instead he stays inside, cleaning the house from top to bottom until his hands are worn raw from scrubbing. He doesn't stop until Chas finds him on the bathroom floor cleaning the spotless toilet for the fourth time that day. 

 _Robert, you need to come downstairs. The police are here. It's Liv._  

The police tell Robert that Liv has been caught drinking on the school grounds. A teacher called the police when she threatened to kick another student’s head in. She's been issued a conditional caution. She won't be charged as long as she attends a workshop on the dangers of teen drinking. Robert thanks the officers for bringing her home and Chas sees them out, giving him a warning look as she leaves the room. As soon as they're alone together, Liv turns on him. 

 _Don't say anything. Don't even bother. I know what you're going to say._  

 _Why, Liv? Why the hell would you be so stupid?_  

Liv scoffs and goes to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge, opening it and taking a sip before he can stop her. He grabs the can and she struggles for a second before letting it go. Robert stumbles and the can falls to the floor. The contents spilling out onto the tiles. Neither of them make a move to pick it up. 

 _Because my entire life has gone to hell. That's why. Everything is terrible and I have nothing better to do._  

Her eyes are glistening with tears, that she keeps blinking back. She's not looking for sympathy. If she was she'd let them fall. 

 _Then why didn't you come talk to me about it. I am here for you, y’know?_  

 _Oh shut up, okay. Just shut up._  

She pushes her hands into her hair and her face crumples. She looks about ten years old. 

 _I've tried. Okay? I've tried but you're never here. And even when you're here you’re not_ here _. I tried to talk to you a week ago but you didn't answer. You just sat there, on the sofa, staring at the wall. I went away and came back an hour later and you were still there. Staring at the stupid wall. Are you going insane or something?_  

A mist of panic winds its tendrils around Robert's heart, squeezing so hards that he feels like it could burst. His entire life is starting to feel like waking up after a night of heavy drinking, with people telling him things he did that he has no recollection of. The gaps keep getting wider and he has no idea how much wider they'll get. What if he starts to lose entire weeks, or even months? 

 _Robert!!!_  

He blinks. Liv is gone. Not only that but the kitchen is in tatters. Crockery is  shattered all over the floor. A couple of cupboards have had  their doors ripped off. The fridge is wide open and the contents is spilled out all over the room. He looks down at his hands. His palms are bright red and throbbing, tiny shards of glass and ceramic embedded in his skin. 

Terrified, he turns in the direction of the voice. Chas is stood in the sitting room threshold, both of her arms around Liv, who has her head buried in her shoulder. Robert goes to take a step towards them, but Chas reels back, holding Liv even tighter than before. Robert's shoulders slump. He clutches the front of his shirt with both hands and starts to heave. His breath comes in short gasps and his vision is clouded with tears. He's lost it. 

 _Don't._  

He doesn't look up at the sound of Liv’s voice. He doesn't have the strength. Instead he sinks to the floor, collapsing into a sitting position amongst the shattered remains of the kitchen. He presses his face  into his knees and starts to cry. Not just a couple of tears but proper, uncontrollable sobbing. He hasn't cried like this in years, but now he feels like it's never going to stop. 

He looks up a the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Chas is crouched in front of him, looking at him like he's a wild deer that could bolt at any given moment. It takes a few minutes but he finally manages to slow his breathing enough to speak. To say what he's wanted to say for months but has been too afraid to do so. 

 _What's happening to me?_  

The next few hours come and go in snatches. Robert's mind is like a CD that keeps skipping. One minute he's on the kitchen floor. The next he's in his room. The next he's downstairs again, with Chas telling him to get dressed so she can take him to the hospital once she's chased down Charity so she can run the bar. Suddenly he's at the wheel of Aaron's car, driving a full-speed down a stretch of road that's familiar but which he's not lucid enough to place. He’s being chased. He’s sure of it. The presence is there again and he knows he's got to get away from it, because if it catches him he'll never escape and everything will be lost forever. He drives and drives, taking whatever turn that comes up to try and shake it off his tail, but it doesn't leave him. It's never going to leave him. It's going to follow him forever and swallow up everyone and everything he loves.  

The world goes quiet as a realisation comes over him. If he can't save himself from it, then maybe he can save everyone else. Maybe it just needs him. Maybe- 

It's a terrifying thought. So terrifying that he comes crashing down to Earth. He knows exactly what he has to do, and with shaking hands, he takes a sharp left turn. 

 

* * *

 

 _What’s your name?_  

 _Robert_ _Sugden_ _._  

 _Your date of birth?_  

 _22_ _nd_ _of April 1986._  

 _Place of residence?_  

 _Emmerdale_ _._  

 _Nature of illness or injury?_  

 _I think I'm going to kill myself. I don't want to die, but I think I might do it anyway._  

 

* * *

 

He's hospitalised for two weeks. It's a lot less painful than he imagined. For the most part he's just grateful that he's safe, and those he loves are safe. He refuses visitors, no matter how many times Vic asks. He calls her home phone at a time when he knows that both she and Adam will be at work and leaves a message on the answer machine. He says he's fine. He's getting help and he's starting to feel okay. He tells her to tell Liv that none of this is her fault, and that he's sorry for scaring her. 

 _And one more thing, Vic. Please don't tell Aaron. No one can tell Aaron. He can't know. He's got enough going on already. I have to be strong for him. He has to believe that I'm strong._  

He hangs up and leans his head  back against the wall next to the phone. He'll have to face everyone soon, but that's a problem for later. He has to sort himself out first, and that's exactly what it's here to do.  

 

* * *

 

He doesn't tell anyone that he's coming home. He leaves the hospital alone, wearing the same clothes he arrived in, with a prescription for an antipsychotic in his pocket, a referral for six weeks of therapy and a diagnosis of bipolar I hanging over him. He gets the bus back to Emmerdale, Chas having driven Aaron's car back a while ago. It drops him off  just before four. He sits down in the bus shelter, unsure of where to go first. Who is most deserving of an explanation? There's so much that he needs to do that he finds himself rooted to the spot. He reminds himself that it's okay to take things slow, to give himself time to breathe.  

By the time he's calmed down enough to move, he sees another bus coming over the hill. He recognises the number, so decides to wait a little longer. 

When Liv reaches the bus door, she freezes at the sight of him, phone in hand with one earphone dangling from beneath her hair. A boy behind her gets sick of waiting around, shoving her between the shoulder blades to get her moving. She tumbles and Robert steps towards her, but she steadies herself before he has to catch her. She doesn't say anything, just stares down at her feet while a gaggle of noisy teenagers file off the bus around her. 

 _Liv, I-_  

He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence because Liv surges forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. He's so taken aback that he doesn't know how to react, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. Eventually his brain catches up and he wraps her in an embrace. They stay like that for a good while. 

Maybe it's all going to be okay after all. 

 

* * *

 

He goes to visit Aaron two weeks after being discharged from the hospital. He feels okay. The itch is still there, but it's so much easier to ignore. The medication keeps him balanced. Therapy gives him an outlet. It's nowhere as bad as he thought it'd be. His therapist a woman who's not much older than him who talks to him like a person, not a science experiment or a lost cause. He's starting to understand that he's the product of his experiences but he's not defined by them. It doesn't fix everything, there is no fixing when it comes to this kind of thing, but it helps. 

 _So how are you?_  

 _I'm not the one in prison._  

 _You're the one who's just gotten out of the psych ward._  

Robert bites the inside of his cheek. Chas must have told him. Or Liv. Any chance he had of sustaining some kind of sense of normality shatters before him. He closes his eyes, not knowing what to say next. How weak does he look? His husband is the one in prison and he's the one who had a nervous breakdown. A psychotic break. That's what his therapist calls it. He hates it because he can't stand the implication that any part of him is broken, even if it is. 

 _It's okay._  

Robert opens his eyes to find Aaron staring at him intently, his arms unfolded and his hands resting on the table in front of him. He doesn't look scared. He just looks sad. 

 _It's not though, is it? You're the one who's banged up in here and I'm the one who fell apart. I thought I was stronger than this._  

 _You are strong._  

Aaron reaches his hand as far as he can across the table without looking suspicious. 

 _You're so strong, because you're still hear, aren't you? Mum told me you took yourself to the hospital. You needed help so you got it. Do you have any idea how strong that makes you?_  

Robert tries his best to ignoring the burning behind his eyes. Having another bloke weeping all over him isn't going to do anything for Aaron's reputation, even if people do think that they're cousins. 

 _I shouldn't have let it get this bad. I should have gone for help years ago, but I didn't, because I was scared that they'd tell me something I didn't want to hear try to make me take medication that I didn't want to take. Now I'm in therapy and I'm taking the medication and it's all helping, and they told me that I'm bipolar but I know now that it's just a word, something that makes sense of all the horrible stuff I've felt over the years. I should be happy that it's working out but I'm not because all I can think of is all the time I've wasted. I first started feeling like something was wrong as a teenager, what with Mum dying and Dad...well, yeah. So that's half my life I've gone through this. Half my life I've let it hurt me, all because I couldn't admit that there was something wrong._  

His voice fades to a whisper by the time he's done. He wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt and hopes nobody notices. Aaron nibbles on his thumb nail, his mouth twitching in that way it does when he's upset. Eventually he lets his hand fall from his mouth and looks Robert square in the eye. 

 _We can only go forward from here._  

He's right. Robert can't go back and salvage the time he lost. But he has time. They have time together. And the bad times don't mean the good times are rendered null and void. If anything, it just makes them more precious. There will be more bad times for both of them, but there will be so many good times too. 

One day, he’ll stop having to fight to keep his head above the surface  and learn how to float, but for now, he's okay to keep treading  water if it means he can see the sun.  

**Author's Note:**

> come say hello on [tumblr](https://lastgoldsun.tumblr.com/)


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